


New Year

by Rachel Martin (PK_preservation_project)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 05:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12811056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PK_preservation_project/pseuds/Rachel%20Martin
Summary: A routine away mission goes horribly wrong for Tom and Harry.





	New Year

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Leigh, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [P/K All the Way](https://fanlore.org/wiki/P/K_All_the_Way) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [P/K All the Way’s collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/pkalltheway/profile).
> 
> ====
> 
> Posting: Freely post, link and archive. Posted to PKSP 3/22/99. Posted to PacKage 4/8/99.
> 
> Author tampers with canon here by postulating that Tom and B'Elanna were friendly at the start.
> 
> Disclaimer: The Star Trek universe is the property of Paramount/Viacom. This story is my property (not that they'd have it). I'm making no money off this.
> 
> Feedback welcome.
> 
> Warning: Vocabulary, violence, m/m sex. Includes rape/non-consensual sex.

\---

"And a happy Lunar New Year to you, Ensign Kim!"

Harry, nervously entranced by the blue-green objects on his plate, jumped as Neelix bustled up and clapped him on the shoulder. Across the table Tom Paris said, "What year?"

"It's the Lunar New Year, Mr. Paris. Being from Earth yourself you should know that," Neelix added disapprovingly.

"Yeah, it's a major holiday in North America. Exactly what are we celebrating here and does it call for alcohol?"

Harry opened his mouth to explain.

"In the calendar of the Asian people of _your_ planet this is the most important day of the year," Neelix lectured. He turned to Harry and said proudly, "As Morale Officer I make it a point to know the spiritual and cultural holidays of this crew."

Harry opened his mouth to thank the Talaxian.

"You're too good to us, Neelix," Tom said snidely. "What's that you've got, an after-dinner emetic? See, who says I'm not learning anything in Sickbay?"

"The Doctor," Neelix replied coldly, clearly still miffed at the idea of Tom Paris taking a few lessons alongside Kes. He turned toward Harry and beamed. Harry shifted uncomfortably as Neelix set a small dish in front of him. It was filled with sulfurous-smelling, twitching black leaves.

Harry stared at it.

Nearby diners stared at it.

Neelix looked at Harry in puzzlement. "Don't tell me you've been away from home so long you can't remember what kimchi looks like?"

Harry blinked.

"Kimchi, Harry!" Tom said loudly. "Just like Mom used to make!"

Neelix asked anxiously, "Well, aren't you going to try it?"

"C'mon, Harry, dig in!" Tom urged exuberantly.

Looking trapped, Harry stabbed a leaf and forked it into his mouth. Choked. Chewed the minimum number of chews before swallowing. "It's -- great," he said hoarsely. "Just -- great. I can't thank you enough, Neelix." He put the fork down. "Please receive many New Year's blessings."

Neelix beamed again. "Well, eat up, don't be shy. I've made enough for everyone. In fact, tonight for dinner I'm making an Asian feast!"

"Wow!" Tom caroled.

An undercurrent of dismay rumbled almost audibly through the mess hall.

Numbly, Harry brought another leaf to his mouth.

 

In a corner of the mess hall, Kathryn Janeway wiped tears of suppressed laughter from her eyes. She half-rose from her seat, saying to no one in particular, "If someone doesn't save Harry he'll need a stomach pump."

Instantly one of her lunch companions put his hand on her upper arm and gently drew her back down. Chakotay smiled the affectionate smile she never noticed and said, "I'll handle it."

Across the table from them, B'Elanna Torres glanced uncomfortably at Tuvok. The Vulcan impassively surveyed the tableau which, after all, he observed every day on the bridge. Devoted man. Oblivious woman. Torres shifted her glance to the tabletop.

The commander got up and strode across the mess hall to Paris and Kim. He rocked to an impressive halt in front of their table, clasped his hands behind his back and stared down sternly. "Quit filling your faces. An away team is assembling in Bay Four and you have five minutes to get there."

Harry dropped his fork, shot to his feet, shouted "Yessir!" and sped out of the room.

Chakotay looked at Paris. "With friends like you. . ."

Paris looked back, all wide-eyed innocence.

Chakotay pointed in exasperated silence to the door.

Paris got up and sauntered out.

Chakotay's fingers twitched.

"Come, come, Commander, weren't you being a trifle insensitive to Mr. Kim?" Neelix fussed. "After all, today is an important day to him!"

Chakotay set aside thoughts of Tom Paris, insofar as that was possible, and placed an appropriately stricken look on his face. "You're absolutely right, Neelix. Why don't you pack that up and I'll bring it to him."

Janeway snagged Chakotay's sleeve as he walked past her table to the exit. "What's the assignment?"

He smiled that loving smile into that oblivious face and said, "Grocery run."

"You're a good man in an emergency, Chakotay." Janeway laughed, slapped his arm and spun around in her seat again. Torres stared at her uneasily. Tuvok stared dispassionately. Chakotay walked out.

 

The commander entered the transporter room in time to hear Harry Kim say venomously to Tom Paris, "I'm gonna dance on your grave."

"I'll hire the band," Chakotay put in dryly. He stopped in front of the transporter alcove and looked up at the people standing on the pads. "Alright, folks, standard food foraging mission. You know the drill." He knew the crewmembers had been briefed as they'd drawn their gear, knew his own presence in the transporter room was redundant, but. . . force of habit. "Sparsely inhabited. Cross-reference early 20th century Earth culture. Beaming you into what appears to be a nature preserve. Buddy teams, one team to a five square mile area. You may see a few hunters or fishers. Try not to annoy them, Mr. Paris."

Tom looked indignant. Harry chuckled vengefully.

"Energize," Chakotay said, and watched the forms shimmer out. He strode from the transporter room to the nearest lift, stopping, however, to stuff the packet of black leaves into a reclamator.

\---

"Got enough weeds and seeds yet?" Tom inquired idly. He was arranged as comfortably as possible in the forest undergrowth. Harry was energetically digging up a patch of plants and shaking dirt off their bulbous and presumably edible roots.

"Hell no," Harry said promptly. "Chow line won't close for thirty minutes." He added disapprovingly, "Are you ever gonna get off your butt and help?"

Tom decided it was time for a strategic change of subject. "Hey Harry. This Lunar New Year thing."

"Huh?"

"Is it really such a big deal, or was Neelix--"

"What? Oh. Yes. Solnal's a big deal." Inexplicably, Harry sighed.

"So how come you weren't boozing it up and why didn't you invite me to booze with you? I could always use another New Year's Eve."

"It's not that kind of holiday."

"So what kind is it? What do you do?"

"Well. We have a memorial service for our ancestors."

Tom looked at him in disbelief.

"And I perform saebae."

"Should I ask?"

Harry grinned. "That's when I get on the floor and grovel to my parents and grandparents."

"Sounds like my father's kind of holiday." Tom rolled his eyes. "Do you get to have any actual fun?"

"Well, it's a lot of fun for my parents and grandparents."

"I'll bet. What do they do for an encore, lock you in a closet?"

"No!" Harry started chuckling. "They'd give me cake or fruit or some money. My dad would take me to the park and we'd fly kites."

"Kites."

"But when I got older I went dancing."

"There's a catch, right? Since we're talking about Harry Kim, you know, the swinger of the Alpha Quadrant."

"Well, folk dancing."

Tom contemplated his friend. "So being a nerd is like this ethnic imperative?"

"Oh, you wouldn't appreciate your cultural heritage unless it was wearing a bikini."

"Too true. By the way, Harry, when's your next major holiday? I wanna help Neelix keep track."

Harry straightened up and flung a shovelful of dirt at the other man. For good measure he threw the shovel. Tom ducked and rolled. He scrabbled in the brush and came up with some deadwood. For a few moments they furiously exchanged sticks and dirt clods. The skirmish petered out when Harry started laughing too hard to throw straight. Tom continued pelting his opponent until he felt satisfied that he had secured unquestioned victory.

Peace established, the ensign straightened out his uniform and smoothed back his hair. With his hair flopped in his face Harry looked about eighteen, which was why, of course, he affected that severe comb-backed style in the first place.

Tom sucked in some lungsful of air and blew them out. "You're a fun date, Harry Kim."

Harry grimaced. "You're a pig."

"Funny, all the women say that too. Guess there's no use in switch-hitting."

"Tom, this is getting gross."

"Uh-huh, uh-huh, I see it, you're blushing. Does that mean I have a chance?"

Harry blushed so agonizingly that Tom actually felt a twinge of guilt. He got up, retrieved the shovel, and pretended to dig. After a moment he peeked over his shoulder. Harry was industriously and indiscriminately uprooting plants by hand. He was still pink. Tom dropped the shovel, said "Back in a sec" and drifted away until he reckoned he'd given the kid enough space.

Really, it was entirely too easy to get under Harry's skin. Like shooting fish in a barrel. Tom craved a new challenge. Maybe he'd make a Lunar New Year's resolution to torment the Big Guy.

Reminded, Tom glanced at his chronometer and tapped on his comm badge. "Gamma Team to Commander Chakotay."

"Chakotay here. You two had enough fresh air? Alpha and Delta packed it in fifteen minutes ago."

"Sir, we're too dedicated to shave even a minute off this mission."

"Understood." Maliciously, "I'll tell Neelix to save you some dinner."

"That's really low, sir," Tom began, but the bastard had already closed the commlink. Yep, Chakotay was definitely next on the hit parade. As they would say in 1960.

Tom sat down. No thoughts to think in particular.

The forest towered somberly over him. Silent. Shadowy. Eventually, it connected him to the memory of a cathedral his mother had favored. She had practiced one of the most ancient religions of Earth. He had too, to please her. Now he barely remembered any of the rituals she had loved so well. He supposed he could find a summation of her beliefs in the ship's computer. Something written by a condescending social scientist.

Fuck this place. We're outta here, Kim.

A noise.

But he hadn't moved yet.

Several feet moving through underbrush ahead.

Tom sank soundlessly to his belly. Through the brush he saw several humans moving quietly in strung-out single file. Eight of them. Male. All identically fair-complected. Uniformed. Helmeted. One had what looked like a box with wires strapped to his back. The others wore rucksacks. All were carrying projectile-throwers the likes of which he'd seen in museums and vids. No apparent overnight gear, no portable shelters or bedrolls that he could spot.

A few goddamned hunters, my ass. Try a squadron on maneuvers, Chakotay. You and your nature preserve. Is this a military reservation?

He wanted to freeze like an animal until the soldiers had passed by. Then he remembered Harry. He brought his hand to his comm badge and lowered it again. Not that goddamn chirruping noise now. With desperate care Tom began low-crawling backwards, propelling himself with knees and hips and elbows, trying not to rustle the brush too noticeably, begging in his mind -- Harry don't move Harry don't cough Harry don't sneeze --

Behind him, he heard Harry call out, "Where'd you get to?"

In front of him, he heard a sound he'd heard a hundred times in vids and never in real life: the sound of bolt-action rifles cocking.

Tom jolted to his feet, jerked around and ran.

Ran smash into Harry Kim. The two men bounced apart and landed flat on their backs.

It would've been funny, in a vid.

\---

Amazing, Tom thought, just amazing, how goons can always smell people like Harry. The ensign had behaved no differently than his lieutenant as they were pushed and shoved and generally subjected to intimidation tactics out of the universal humanoid rulebook. He'd been equally impassive as they were robbed down to their comm badges and, surprise, a chain and pendant Harry been wearing under his shirt--so obviously a gift from his mom or girlfriend that Tom had to look away as it was lifted off over the kid's head. He'd stayed impassive as his wrists were tied behind him and he was tossed onto the ground beside his similarly restrained friend.

But the goons could smell him. Like a five-course dinner and not at Chez Neelix. Tom felt certain.

Harry's appearance clearly surprised the soldiers. Their eyes slid right over Tom, for which he felt instinctive gratitude and conscious shame as Harry stonily took the brunt of their curiosity. A few of them put out hands to touch Harry's straight black hair or trace the epicanthal folds of his eyes. One placed his hand against Harry's face and studied the contrasting skin tones. Surely this planet had a few different races, Tom thought. Surely these goons had seen different- looking people at least in pictures.

Throughout the swift progression of events Tom had tried to keep his eyes on that monstrosity of a communicator box strapped to that man's back. He wouldn't have even recognized it as such if he hadn't seen similar things in awful old vids. He didn't think it had been used. So. No message going out to higher authorities about these exotically equipped and uniformed prisoners. No double-timing it to base camp to exhibit the black-haired man. Nope. These guys were shedding their helmets and rucksacks. Stacking weapons. Getting comfy.

Tom shivered.

Harry immediately said softly, "Chakotay will blow a blood vessel when you fail to report in."

"Chakotay's the one who beamed us into this mess."

"He only knows what the stupid recon fucks tell him."

Foul language from Harry Kim. Which meant he was frightened. Oughta do something senior officer-ish about that. But Tom couldn't get any reassuring words to come out of his mouth. He decided to leave the senior officer stuff to his betters.

Two of the goons had been emptying their rucksacks and refilling them with the away team's gear. Then they pulled off woodland camouflage- patterned outer jackets and baggy long trousers to reveal nondescript dark shirts and leggings. The goons slung the rucks over their shoulders and, with the obvious assent of the group, backtracked out of the small clearing.

Tom laughed shortly. "I wish I could see their faces when Chakotay beams them up for a bawling out."

Harry said in bewilderment, "Now why would they take our gear to their headquarters and not us? And what's with the quick change routine?"

"They're not going to any headquarters. I'll tell you exactly where they're going. To a vehicle. Then to the nearest town. Then to a pawnshop. Then to a liquor store."

Harry said softly, "These guys are creeping me out."

The six goons remaining were having a raucous discussion punctuated by uproarious laughter. Of all things, they seemed to be playing with a can of small sticks that one had pulled out of a pocket. Shaking the can, pitching the sticks up into the air, scrambling to catch them. Tom felt his stomach muscles clench. Paranoid Paris.

The men seemed to be showing each other the sticks they'd caught. More laughter. Exclamations. Shoves to shoulders. Then two of the broke away and strode purposefully toward the prisoners.

Paranoid.

Tom caught himself shrinking back against Harry. The younger man turned to look at him in surprise. Harry started to say something.

The goons interrupted, stooping over and catching Harry up under the arms. Tom went weak with relief. They hauled the kid to his feet and hustled him forward several fast paces. Then with casual violence they hurled him face-first into the ground. As he lay stunned one of them sat down heavily on his back. The other grabbed at Harry's uniform, wrenched impatiently at the unfamiliar fastenings, then produced a knife and started slashing at the material.

Soundlessly, Harry freaked.

He began bucking and thrashing and straining. As he struggled the other goons collected around him, almost but not quite blocking Tom's view.

I was actually glad they chose him. . .

Not having done time in Auckland, Harry didn't seem to realize that his struggles were exciting the men. Two more jumped into the act, helping to drag his legs apart. The apparent winner of the game of chance sauntered up, opening a slit in the front of his trousers.

Tom thought numbly: I was actually glad.

He struggled to his feet. Realized in amazement that absolutely none of the soldiers was paying attention to him. He stared into the surrounding woods.

He stared at Harry.

Why wouldn't the stupid kid quit fighting? Another soldier had gotten involved, kneeling on Harry's shoulders. Which put Harry's face right in the guy's crotch, which meant in another few seconds a very bright idea was going to occur to the guy.

The winner had freed his erect penis. He dropped to his knees between the kid's legs. Grabbed Harry's buttocks and spread them apart.

Harry screamed.

No please no Harry don't don't I can't can't --

The man bit Harry's back. Just to hear him scream again. Which he obligingly did. Not having vacationed in Auckland.

Tom whistled.

The soldiers froze. The winner released Harry, whirled around, leaped to his feet .

Tom seized eye contact and held it. Smiled. The smile that worked so well. Opened his mouth. Ran his tongue slowly and wetly around his lips.

The winner looked pole-axed.

Languorously, Tom walked forward. When he saw the man twitch nervously he stopped and slowly sank to his knees. He began inching toward the soldier. He never broke eye contact. Never stopped smiling seductively. Never stopped working his lips and tongue suggestively. Behind the man he could see the other goons rolling off Harry, who immediately flipped onto his back and sat upright. Two soldiers grabbed his elbows and absent-mindedly restrained him. All of them were staring at Tom Paris doing his prison whore routine.

Harry was staring.

Narrow-eyed, the winner had nevertheless allowed Tom to move in quite closely. Close enough? Tom bent his head forward and stretched out his tongue. He was just able to brush the man's penis.

"Tom. . ." He heard Harry's voice rising in amazement. He edged a little closer. Close enough to lick the penis from base to tip. He put saliva into it.

"Tom, what are you doing?" Harry's voice was pitched high enough to crack.

Abruptly Tom felt his head rock back as the man punched him in the face. Above the high keening pain he heard Harry yelling. Not yelling at the goon. Yelling at him.

"Tom! Stop it! Stop it!"

Tom slowly brought his head forward. Looked up with exactly the right expression of submission. Bent over and hovered his open wet mouth over the goon's dick. Breathed warmly. Vaguely he heard Harry screaming. "Stop it! Stop it! Goddamn you, Paris!"

The goon grabbed Tom's hair and roughly shoved his head down. The penis penetrated to the back of his throat. I'm going to gag. Can't do that. Can't do this. Can't--

Reflexively he began sucking. Yeah, some reflexes you never lose. Hardly hoping, he rotated his shoulders and wriggled his fingers suggestively and yes his wrists were freed. He cupped his hands around the goon's testicles and resisted the suicidal impulse to squeeze. Instead he feathered his fingertips along the bastard's sensitive skin as he sucked. When he came up for air, he saw that old familiar look on the goon's face. And the looks on the faces of the other men who now encircled them. He felt a knife slicing his skin and his uniform falling open. Felt his knees being kicked apart and a chest pressing against his back. And he heard Harry, who had never vacationed in Auckland, screaming like a damned soul.

\---

Tom retched again.

He didn't know why his body wouldn't quit doing that. There couldn't be a drop of semen left in his stomach to sick up. Enough, already.

But he retched again.

Gasping, he tried once more to get to his hands and knees. Pain bolted through his torso. He relaxed again, face down on the ground.

Turning his head, he looked again at Harry, several yards away. Harry was all right. The impatient soldiers had shoved him back against a tree and re-fastened his wrists behind it. From object of fascination to distraction. At some point his vocal cords had given out. But Harry was all right. None of the soldiers had waited around for second erections. In fact, even as the last ones were shoving their dicks into Tom's mouth and ass, the others were strapping on rucksacks and helmets and grabbing up rifles. It seemed to dawn on them that they had been on their way somewhere and time was a'wasting. Or maybe they were just afraid the other two squad members were hogging all the liquor. They melted into the woods, not even bothering to kill their prisoners. In other words, supposing this twosome staggered to civilization, no authority there would prosecute the soldiers. Scratch this place from the guidebooks.

So Harry was all right. So would he quit sitting there looking like a fucking zombie.

Tom thought: If I could get him loose maybe I'd have a chance.

With a sudden convulsed effort he threw himself up and forward onto his hands and knees. When the pain stopped ricocheting around his gut he made himself look down. Through his shredded uniform he could see red and white ooze trickling thickly down his inner thighs. And now that he was off the ground he could see the puddle of blood and semen and vomit that he had been lying in. And now that he could see it he had to get out of it because damned if he would make Admiral Paris' dreams come true by dying in it.

Hissing through the pain, he inched his way clear.

He raised his head and looked at Harry again. Harry looked back blankly. Tom thought again: I've got to get him loose. He's got to help me.

He crawled. Planted a hand forward. Brought a knee forward. Other hand. Now other knee. Do it again. Again. He stopped to untangle himself from flaps of uniform, to crouch over cramps in his belly, to breathe deeply, to let the pain die down to a simmer. Harry watched his progress silently.

Tom bumped into the tree. Thankfully he knelt against it, got his arms around the trunk and steadied himself. His shoulder brushed Harry's and the younger man flinched.

Tom said hoarsely, "Harry. Harry, I'm going to see if I can get you loose."

When he didn't get a response he put his face into the kid's and stared. He remained like that for a moment, nose-to-nose and eye-to- eye. It was like looking into Neverland.

And then it seemed like the kid's engine turned over. Harry began gasping. The gasps became breaths that Harry sucked in more and more deeply. He shuddered with the effort of breathing. His face flushed. Apprehensively Tom leaned away. The kid looked like he was about to detonate.

Harry screamed, "Why?"

"Harry--"

"I didn't ask you to! I didn't want you to! I can take care of myself! I can--"

Tom said harshly. "Harry, your marbles are bouncing all over the Delta Quadrant and all they made you do was watch."

Harry banged his head back against the tree trunk.

"Right?"

Harry didn't reply.

Tom let go of the trunk to grab double fistfuls of black hair. He yanked Harry's face into his own and yelled, "Right?"

Harry yelled back, "I can --"

"Get real! You graduated from Juilliard and I graduated from the Auckland penal colony!"

"That does not happen in a Federation prison!"

Tom looked at Harry in mild disbelief. Merely mild, because he knew his audience. He let go of the black hair and clutched at the tree trunk again. The air, the light, were taking on an underwater quality, and he sickly understood that releasing Harry might do the kid good but wouldn't affect his own situation anymore. He'd crested the hill.

He felt the tree shudder under his hands. He slewed around and saw Harry belting his head back against the trunk.

"Harry! Goddammit!"

Harry whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so stupid." He slammed his head again.

Tom hadn't thought he had any more blood for adrenaline to pour through. Still kneeling, he lurched at the other man. Laced his fingers through the dark hair to shield the back of the skull. "You're not stupid! You're, you're--" Tom thrashed about for words.

"You're not stupid," he repeated, intensely. "You're decent."

"Decent, stupid, what's the difference?"

For an awful second Tom stared at a reflection of his own disillusionment. Then, frightened, angry, he rattled the kid's head. "I'm not gonna listen to this shit! Not from you! You know the difference! Harry, you're like a goddamn human compass. When I can't tell right from wrong anymore, I just look at you. And you -- you get me back to civilization."

Tom stopped. Words. Words to express his craving for Harry's depth and strength of character. His commitment and integrity. His enthusiasm and optimism. For all the qualities Harry possessed so cavalierly. For Harry.

Startled, he stared at Harry. Harry looked back at him wonderingly.

Tom said thickly, "You're the sanest thing that ever happened to me."

He forgot how nauseating his mouth would taste, could only think how sweet Harry would taste, and he pressed his lips over the other man's.

He drank in Harry, immersed himself, incoherently certain that instead of muddying Harry he himself would become clean. He drank until the adrenaline drained out of his body and he became cold and weak and slowly aware that he was forcing his filthy mouth on Harry who was making soft frantic sounds in his throat.

Aghast, Tom let go of the kid and scrambled back. Back. He was incapable of meeting Harry's eyes. Suddenly he remembered his injuries. He remembered that he was bleeding and had been bleeding and was dying. He was at the last moment of his life and he'd spent it molesting his best friend. Suddenly he started laughing in fits and starts.

"My old man was right," he gasped. "And he's not around to hear me say it."

"Tom!"

He did hear me say it. Tom started laughing harder. Hysterically.

Two muscular arms wrapped around his upper body and began dragging him right back over to Harry. For a heart-stopping second he thought the soldiers had returned. He twisted his head and recognized the face.

Chakotay smacked his comm badge. "Chakotay to away team. Got 'em. Go back." He hit the badge again, stretched to grab Harry's shoulder, and said jerkily, "Chakotay to Voyager. Emergency beam-out. Three. My coordinates. Directly to Sickbay."

The world shimmered out.

\---

Tom vaguely heard Chakotay shout, activating the medical hologram. In moments the Doctor was running a scanner over Harry and over Tom and Tom was the one Chakotay hoisted off the floor and onto a biobed. The commander stepped back and looked at the blood and vomit and semen now smeared down the front of his uniform. The older man flushed and turned away. Tom felt a sickening lurch in his gut. Then an almost physical stab of anger. Then Chakotay turned back again with a drape that he carefully settled around Tom's exposed genitals.

"No need for that, Commander, surgery will commence shortly," the Doctor said briskly. He peered at the hypo he had conjured up, then brought it to Tom's neck.

Tom heard Harry's sudden yell from the floor. "Don't! Don't give him any shit!"

Nonplused, the Doctor and Chakotay looked downwards. The commander said soothingly, "It's really all right. Tom needs --"

Harry bellowed in frustration. "No! I have to talk to him!"

"Ensign," the Doctor said severely, "surely anything you wish to say to Mr. Paris can be said later."

Over the edge of the biobed Tom saw Harry, wrists still tied together, struggle to his feet. The Doctor and Chakotay glanced at each other. The Doctor stretched toward another drawer and extracted a second hypo. Chakotay caught hold of Harry's upper arms.

"Don't give me any shit!" Harry yelled. "Don't give him any shit! I have to talk to him!"

"Doc, shoot me up already," Tom croaked.

Chakotay jerked his head at the Doctor. Harry yelled furiously as the spray met his neck. He slumped against Chakotay who easily lifted him and carried him to another bed. Tom felt a spray against his own neck and thankfully accepted oblivion.

\---

I ought to be having nightmares, Tom thought dreamily. I ought to be having nightmares.

Instead he felt a calmness quite distinct from the floaty feeling of post-op analgesics and sedatives. The calmness seemed centered in the pit of his stomach.

Hardly his reaction in prison to a gang bang.

No. Not like prison. Not like getting jumped by his fellow inmates. This time he'd given himself deliberately. Not like trading sex for favors from guards. He'd exchanged himself for nothing tangible. He had performed, had allowed others to perform, the exact same actions that had once caused him such rage and grief and self-reproach. And this time he felt matter-of-fact acceptance. Peace, even.

Marveling, he yanked at his sense of self-respect, testing its strength.

Something -- some thread worked loose.

Harry.

Harry?

The memory returned.

The calmness started draining away.

Cycling into consciousness again, Tom listened to Harry's soft inarticulate complaining sounds until he made himself look across the bay at his companion. Harry had been cleaned up and dressed in some of his own clothes, a tank top and cut-off shorts, and he lay curled in a fetal position, hair fanning over a troubled face. In the dim light he looked achingly young and defenseless. Clearly he was under the influence of some heavy-duty drug. Tom was scared to know why. The poor kid obviously wanted to wake up and obviously couldn't. Tensing as Harry roused, relaxing as he subsided, Tom's thoughts ran a treadmill.

Harry was whacked out and tied up, tied up, for godssake, and I stuck my tongue down his throat. How's that for consensual. A junior officer. My best friend. Hell -- my little brother. He must've thought the nightmare was starting all over again, this time starring T. Paris. Does he think I intend to redeem a claim on his ass? Does he think he owes me? How do I make such a mess of things? With all the willing women -- and men -- on Voyager, why did I pick Harry?

As his own medication clouded his mind again, the most important question of all sneaked in under his shields: how do I stop myself from doing it again?

\---

Thank the deities for B'Elanna Torres, who had done too many unscrupulous things herself to be shocked by the doings of one Thomas Eugene Paris. In this damn ship full of decent people she was a life preserver and he actually clutched at her when she stealthily entered Sickbay just before alpha shift. Remarkably, instead of slapping his hands aside, she put her own over them.

"I can't get caught here," she said, sotto voce. "You guys are off limits till the Doctor lets Janeway in. But I -- I mean there were rumors -- and I tried asking the away team --"

Tom croaked. "Please, please tell me there wasn't a whole team."

"Well there was but they said they never saw you, Chakotay brought you in and people said his uniform --"

Abruptly she stooped for a fierce kiss. When she broke off Tom was grinning and she was flushed with embarrassment.

To cover her confusion she twisted around, looked across the bay and said, "How's Harry?"

"How's Tom?"

Recovering her balance now, she chuckled. "Guess I don't have to ask. You're a hardcase, Paris. Just like me."

"People like us belong together, don't we."

The unexpected words and intense tone brought her back around again. As she floundered for a reply Tom hooked an arm around her, yanked her down and kissed her forcefully. Torres growled in surprise and pleasure, then pushed him away and said meaningfully, "Save your strength."

Harry murmured in his sleep.

Tom said, "I'm gonna need it."

\---

The lights were dim, and she was moving quietly around his cabin, but Tom woke anyway.

He felt too comfortable, too lazy, to move, or even to open his eyes. An evening of energetic sex followed by several hours' sleep could have that effect.

Must be the middle of the night by now, he thought.

He listened as B'Elanna activated the shower. Apparently he wasn't the only one who sneaked out on sleeping lovers. But, he thought virtuously, at least he put off the shower till he got back to his own place. There was a Klingon for you. No couth.

The shower shut off. The footsteps padded back into the sleeping area. A hand patted his arm. "Tom?"

His eyes popped open in surprise. A towel-wrapped B'Elanna chuckled. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. Just wanted to let you know I'm on my way out. I scheduled myself for gamma shift tonight. Gotta keep the little bastards on their toes."

"Oh," Tom said weakly. "Oh, well." He busied himself with propping pillows under his head and shoulders while repressing the urge to feel ashamed of himself. When he felt sufficiently recovered he leaned back and leered at B'Elanna as she dropped the towel and began dressing. B'Elanna rolled her eyes but refused to rise to the bait. She dressed with businesslike dispatch.

"Aw, c'mon, Bella, gimme a show. It'll be fun."

"Pig." She snatched up the wet towel and fired it with deadly accuracy. By the time he had unwrapped it from around his head she was three-quarters clad. No fun at all.

"Guess I'll see you in the messhall for breakfast?" he wheedled.

"You may see me, but that doesn't mean I have to see you. Go bug Harry for a while. What's with you two anyway?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean you guys used to hang out together all the time and now you don't."

"Hey, it's Harry's problem, not mine."

"So there is a problem?"

Tom stared at her in exasperation. Damned woman. She strolled into the bathroom again and came out with his brush, comb, and an assortment of toiletries.

"Don't be shy," Tom commented sourly. "Help yourself. My casa ist su casa."

"Hope your Klingon is better than your Spanish. So what have you done to piss Harry off?"

"Why does everybody assume everything is my fault? Maybe it's Harry's fault. Huh? Did you ever think of that? I swear if Tuvok caught Harry with a bloody knife and a warm body he'd arrest me."

"Fine. So what has Harry done to piss you off?"

"Nothing."

"Another really enlightening conversation in the Delta Quad." B'Elanna dropped Tom's brush et. al. onto his desk. "This is about what happened on that food foraging job, isn't it. You haven't told me what happened and Harry's not talking either. He's been looking funny for the past two weeks. Wanna hear what I think?"

"No."

"I think Harry made a dumb mistake, and that's how you got hurt, and you're too macho to squeal, and he can't say anything without getting a disciplinary action."

Tom said coldly, "If that's what the rumor mill is --"

"Nah, no one's saying anything nasty about Harry. You kidding? That's just my own theory. Actually, everyone thinks you got whatever you brought on yourself and that Harry's too nice to say so."

Tom groaned. B'Elanna shot him a sharp look and said, "You're free to enlighten us."

Tom scowled.

"Back to my theory. Harry owes you. And it's eating him up." B'Elanna stooped over to pull on her socks and boots. "You did the same thing times ten to Chakotay, but he can handle the guilt trip. Because, number one, he's a mature man, and because, number two, he detests you. So it's kinda easy for him to repress his feelings of gratitude, if you know what I mean."

Tom nodded glumly.

"But Harry is one awfully sheltered twenty-two-year-old. Geez, I hope he's that old. And he likes you. No accounting for taste." She turned her head and grinned up at Tom. "So he's gonna feel like a creep till he's paid you back. So beat him to a pulp at cards or pool and take his holodeck privileges and replicator rations. Or unload some lousy duty on him. Something messy. I'd get in line to see Harry look messy."

She stood up and smoothed her uniform. Tom said sarcastically, "Thank you Counselor Torres."

"Hey, you come up with something better."

"Go away."

"Nighty-night, Tommy boy." She strolled out.

Tom knocked the pillows out from under his shoulders. He flopped back onto the mattress and ordered the lights off.

And thought about food foraging with Harry Kim on the Lunar New Year.

In the big picture of his life, the attack amounted to nothing. Just another shovelful of shit on the pile. Neither Janeway nor Chakotay would believe he wasn't secretly cracking up. But he couldn't bear to spell out the pointlessness of their concern. A few facts about life in the Auckland penal colony would make himself look like even more of a pathetic victim to people who viewed their bodies as temples. How to explain using his body as currency to buy off the other claimants to Ensign Kim? Better that Janeway should think him a victim than a businessman. Luckily for Ensign Kim, his lieutenant had been too debilitated to take what he had only preserved for himself. Their one kiss had been enough to freak the kid out. If it weren't for their interaction on the bridge they wouldn't be interacting at all. Oh, Harry understood, all right, that he hadn't been rescued but bought and sold.

How to explain any of this to B'Elanna? He liked B'Elanna. At the same time he was using her. If you can't fuck the one you want, fuck the one you're with. Who needed a counselor when there were 20th century lyrics for guidance? To add to the confusion he was realizing that B'Elanna could easily become more to him than a fuck buddy. Great. Then he could pine after two people! Better yet, Harry and B'Elanna could marry each other!

Tom groaned.

Shut off his thoughts.

Fell asleep.

\---

Someone in his quarters again.

He thought groggily, B'Elanna? Already finished wreaking terror amongst the serfs? The Serfs Of Engineering. There was a holo-novel in that. Must be B'Elanna. Who else had the code to his cabin? Well, Harry, but Harry wasn't likely to bust in at night when he was avoiding Tom at high noon in the messhall.

Coming fully awake now, the lieutenant listened to the sound of two boots falling onto the carpet, then the rustle of clothing sliding over skin. B'Elanna planning a sneak attack. He didn't know whether he ought to smile or cringe. Maybe. . . yes . . cringe.

Footsteps approached the bed. With an effort, he kept his breathing regular although his heartbeat accelerated. He tensed for the pounce.

The mattress simply gave on one edge. No further motion. No sound.

Curiosity, not to mention a sense of self-preservation, overcame him. He sat up abruptly and said, "Computer, ten percent illumination."

Harry. As naked as Tom himself was. Harry sitting back on his knees, head bowed, palms resting flat on his thighs, between which Tom glimpsed his genitals nesting in wiry black pubic hair.

Tom thought: I'm dreaming.

Experimentally Tom reached out and touched Harry's knee. It felt warm and solid. Harry remained immobile. The silence, the stillness, the lack of eye contact, certainly added the surreal touches of a dream to the situation. The eeriest wet dream of his life.

And he thought: Whether or not I'm dreaming, Harry Kim is not getting naked in my bed without suffering the consequences.

Slowly, Tom brought his forefinger to his mouth, licked it, and extended it towards Harry's mouth. He slid his slick finger back and forth along that lush lower lip, listened to the other's sharp intake of breath, and murmured, "Lick it, Harry."

He felt a jolt in the pit of his stomach as the tip of Harry's tongue placed small, awkward touches down the length of his finger. After a moment he drew it down the center of Harry's tongue in one broad stroke from base to tip and whispered, "Like that," and Harry copied the motion until Tom realized he would comply indefinitely.

He slipped his finger between the younger man's slightly parted lips. "Suck it, Harry," he said softly, and felt a jolt travel straight to his groin as Harry obeyed. Tom sensed tremors rippling the honey- colored skin as he began slowly pushing and pulling his finger in and out of Harry's mouth. A voice whispered in Tom's mind, He'll go along with anything. . .

Startled, Tom pulled his finger completely out of Harry's mouth. Harry didn't react. He continued sitting back on his knees, hair veiling his face. Sweat was beginning to streak his temples and bead on his chest. His hands gripped the sheets. Waiting. Waiting for whatever Tom said was next. A dream. A harem boy fantasy. Too bad he couldn't tell his best friend about it in the morning.

Anything, the voice whispered. Shut up, he thought, and leaned forward again. He parted the fall of black hair and said softly, "Open your mouth."

Harry immediately obeyed. Tom traced those full lips with his tongue, over and over, before dipping into Harry's mouth. He felt Harry trembling as he drew the man's tongue into his own mouth and sucked it, flirted with it, released it. He caught Harry's lower lip between his teeth and worried it, let it go. He repeated his assault on Harry's mouth until he finally wrung a moan out of the silent young man and thought, gotcha!

Panting, Tom drew back and said, "Lie down. On your back."

Harry slowly uncurled his legs and rolled down into the mattress. The heavy black hair tumbled over his closed eyes. Tom thought humorously -- what, if you don't look it's not a sin? And a little more noise would be gratifying to the ego. Harry was the most repressed person he'd ever bedded. Such a surprise.

His mischievous instincts aroused, Tom straddled the other man's hips, bent over and tongued one small brown nipple. Harry jerked uncontrollably but soundlessly. Tom licked his thumb and forefinger and gripped the other nipple on the smooth, hairless chest. Harry jerked again.

Tom said, "We're gonna play a game." His voice sounded unnatural in the eerie silence. "'Twenty Questions.' Here goes. You ever had sex with a man before?"

Harry shook his head.

"You ever have sex with a woman?" Tom spoke jokingly. Surely. . .

Harry nodded.

"Libby, right?"

Another nod.

Tom began rolling the captured nipple between his fingers. Harry gasped. His broad shoulders dug back into the mattress.

"And how many other women?" A shake of the head.

Harry cried out and arched up as Tom reprovingly squeezed the nipple. "Just Libby?"

A nod. Why, those lying Delaney sisters. In fact, Tom could think of several women's insinuations, could remember ribbing Harry and getting an innocent stare in return. Whaddaya know. It really had been an innocent stare.

He smoothed his palms over Harry's chest and abdomen, and urging the man's legs apart with his knees, resettled himself between them. He bent over to run his tongue lightly around Harry's steadily strengthening erection and listened with satisfaction to the almost pained moan this elicited.

Harry still had his eyes closed.

. . . why won't he look at me?

And at long last, the obvious explanation trickled into Tom's mind like icy water down his back.

Tom reared up on his knees. He could not acknowledge even to himself the extent of his hurt feelings or wounded pride. Converting the humiliation to anger was the work of an instant.

"You don't want to look at me, then don't," he growled.

Tom stooped swiftly and bit Harry as viciously as a dog. In a small sane corner of his mind he wondered at the lack of resistance, until all reason drowned in the rising tide of rage and mortification. Let's see who uses who, Harry Kim. Let's see you pretend this is Libby.

\---

"I can't shake you, can I," B'Elanna said. But it was she who took the seat opposite Tom in the mess hall.

Tom tried to smile. "Did you whip the slaves into line?"

B'Elanna sighed contentedly and dug into breakfast, which actually looked and smelled fairly normal this morning. She looked at Tom and said between mouthfuls, "You look like shit. Guess I better give you some rest. Or you'll be no use to me at all."

"Thank you, Oh Dominatrix of the Delta Quadrant." Tom wondered how his mouth could keep producing the usual wisecracks when his mind was trying to wrap itself around the concept of working with Harry on the bridge. Or for that matter, passing Harry in a corridor. Getting into the same lift. In fact, how to spend the next seventy-odd years functioning alongside someone he had brutally used. Someone whom he had once thought might. . . Well, forget that, Tommy-me-boy. And oh by the way, aren't you sitting opposite somebody else you owe an apology to? And you think Harry's a user?

Sunk in thought, he did not even notice Harry's presence in the mess hall until the other man stopped in front of him.

Tom focused and froze.

Harry said calmly, "Morning," and took a seat beside B'Elanna.

No visible bruising. No apparent pain. So he'd visited Sickbay. He must have persuaded the Doctor that he had voluntarily sought out rough sex -- otherwise Mr. Paris might be eating breakfast in the brig. Only a hologram would buy that story from a kid who got flustered when girls smiled at him. Tom could just imagine the sarcasm, snide remarks, and caustic advice visited upon the patient during treatment.

A tidal wave of shame swamped Tom. He wanted the mess hall and all its occupants to disappear around them so he could scream, Harry, I'm sorry. I've never been jealous before, I never cared enough about anybody to feel jealous. Harry, I'm sorry. I can't believe I'm jealous of a girl on the other side of the galaxy, a girl you're going to forget about in a few years anyway. I'm sorry, sorry.

Instead he mumbled, "Morning."

To his amazement he heard himself proceed to exchange inanities with the kid until B'Elanna mercifully butted in. He knew he was a good actor but since when could Harry keep his real feelings off his face? The minutes passed with agonizing slowness until Harry finally said, "See you later," got up and walked out.

Tom unsteadily picked up his coffee mug and took a swallow.

B'Elanna said curiously, "Fast work, Paris. What'd you squeeze him for? And when?"

Tom stared at her.

B'Elanna snapped her fingers impatiently in the space between his nose and his mug. "Torres to Paris. Our conversation last night. I can see you two are back to normal, so what I wanna know is, how'd he settle up with you? I should get a percentage, it was my idea."

Tom set the mug down before he dropped it. He turned in his seat and bent over, pretending to pull up the sock inside one boot. He rested his forehead against his knee and thought: Don't get sick. Don't get sick.

"Selfish," B'Elanna said disgustedly. She stood up, collected her tray, and stalked off.

\---

"Mr. Paris."

How had he ever drawn this medic duty? Where did Janeway get these ideas? He grudgingly supposed even Kes needed time away from this curmudgeon.

"Missssss - ter Paris."

Tom sighed and looked up from the instrument he was uselessly trying to calibrate. He hadn't been able to focus on a damn thing all day anyhow.

"Mr. Paris, I have pondered this for a considerable length of time, but can form no other conclusion. You are the person in whom I must confide."

"Uh-uh. No way." Tom stood up and poked the hologram in the chest. "I don't need no stinking confidences. Go bare your heart somewhere else."

"Mr. Paris, I am hardly about to make a declaration of love," the Doctor said frostily. "I am referring to a matter concerning Mr. Kim."

"Ever heard of patient confidentiality?"

"I am far more acquainted with the concept that you are. Unfortunately, try as I might, I can think of no one better qualified to assist Mr. Kim. Peer counseling is --"

"Exactly what are you babbling about?"

"Mr. Kim has initiated a physically harmful relationship with someone aboard this vessel. As it is consensual I cannot collect evidence or report the matter to his superiors. But I believe a continuation of this relationship could result in considerable bodily harm to him."

Tom's eyes narrowed. Was the hologram obliquely threatening him? He'd say. . . no. No, the damn thing had adhered to its ethics subroutine and had indeed failed to run the simple tests that would have revealed the identity of Harry's fuck buddy. He doubted any human doctor could have repressed his curiosity so thoroughly. Well, there was some use for a computer-generated doc after all.

"Mr. Paris?"

"So Harry likes it rough. So what."

"Mr. Paris, you are singularly unobservant to be Mr. Kim's purported close friend. Suffice to say such behavior is outside the parameters of Mr. Kim's psychological profile. I have reviewed the psychiatric data available to my program and have formed a hypothesis --"

"Everybody duck!"

"-- that Mr. Kim is punishing himself for not having suffered alongside you on your last away mission. You, on the other hand --"

"Yeah yeah. We're discussing Harry, right?"

"Indeed. I am asking you to speak with Mr. Kim informally. According to your report it was by mere chance that he did not share your experience. For which you have avoided counseling, although my program qualifies me to --"

"This conversation is about Harry."

"Very well. You and unfortunately no one else can convince Mr. Kim of the pointlessness of his guilt. He will accept your moral authority in this matter."

"Me. Moral authority." Tom repressed the urge to begin laughing insanely.

"In this matter," the Doctor repeated dryly. "Only the victim can grant absolution."

"Victim?"

"I have no wish to offend you, Mr. Paris, but that is in fact what you are. A discussion with Mr. Kim might enlighten you as well."

Tom reminded himself that he was speaking to a numbnuts computer accessing a psychiatric database and an away team report which he himself, as officer-in-charge, had written. He unclenched his teeth and said, "I'll talk to the kid. Okay? Keep this shit out of both our service records."

He could swear the Doctor looked smug. What evil programmer had cooked up that particular piece of code?

\---

After his shift, after dinner, after puttering, after he couldn't come up with another excuse to stall, he figured he might as well try cornering Harry for their little chat. The computer located Harry in his quarters. Worth a shot.

Basically he needed to inform Harry that if he wanted punishment he'd have to get it from another bastard because Tom Paris was never touching him again. And maybe he could convince the kid to find a decent person just like himself instead. And Tom Paris would go on sleeping with B'Elanna until he got over his case of what-ifs and she got tired of him. And everything would be. . . just peachy.

Tom stopped in front of Harry's door, automatically punched in the access code, and walked in before stopping to consider the presumptuousness of such an entrance.

Harry was seated in front of his desk, chair turned around, music stand before him and clarinet in hand. He wasn't wearing anything but shorts and Tom started feeling as flustered as Harry looked. Damn. The choirboy face most definitely did not go with that body.

They regarded each other in mutual embarrassment.

"Uh. Hi."

"Hi."Tom fidgeted.

"Well. Uh. Sit down."

"Didn't mean to bust in on you like this."

"Never bothered you before." And suddenly Harry smiled. And Tom realized he had last seen that smile two weeks ago. On the most important day in Harry's calendar. What irony. If there were any deities they were all sickos.

"Sit. I mean. If you want."

"Yeah." Tom lowered himself onto the sofa.

Harry looked at him uncertainly for a moment, then raised the clarinet to his mouth. For a sweet moment life seemed exactly as it had been.

"Wait a sec."

Harry paused. Studied Tom's face. Then, reached back and placed the instrument in its case on the desk. Then, moved the music stand aside. Then, sat forward.

Tom hardly knew where to begin. Begin at the beginning. New Year's Day.

"Harry. That goddamn food foraging job."

Slow nod.

"You don't owe me." Tom punched the sofa. "I'm not saying you don't owe me now, I'm saying you never owed me."

"Yeah. I figured that out."

"Huh?"

"I can't say I owe you because that implies I'm going to repay you and I can't repay you. I know that much. So I have to take what you did as a gift. I hate your gift because it's ugly and it cost too much and I never asked for it in the first place. But I keep reminding myself it's the thought that counts." Harry smiled faintly.

Tom tried to process this. Couldn't, quite. It upset too many preconceived notions -- his own, B'Elanna's, the Doctor's. Tom clutched at one of those notions: he needed to make an apology. "Harry. . . I'm sorry."

"Sorry about what?"

Tom said slowly, "For hurting you last night."

"What are you talking about?"

"What are you talking about? Are we talking about the same thing? What do you think happened last night?"

Harry reddened. "We. . . had sex."

"Harry. . ." Tom groaned. "That was war, not sex."

"What?"

"Harry, I hurt you!"

"But. That's just. . . how it is. Right?"

"Huh?"

"How it is. With another man. Right?"

Tom's vision started blurring. Impatiently he wiped the back of his hand over his eyes. "No. That is not how it is. I got crazy. You wouldn't talk to me. You wouldn't look at me. I thought -- I thought you were trying to pretend -- well, that I was -- well, Libby."

Harry's eyes opened wide. "I would have to have one hell of an imagination to pretend that. I'm not that creative."

"Well, it's not impossible," Tom said defensively. "You being so attached to her." He let the unspoken question dangle between them.

"Captain Janeway would tear my tongue out if she ever heard me say this. . . I've given up." Harry sounded tired. "Sure I hung onto Libby. Libby's part of a package deal. No Libby means no Mom, no Dad, no career, no Alpha Quadrant. Well. . . I've accepted that. Voyager is my real life. It's not where I pass the time till I get back to my real life. This isn't temporary, this isn't makeshift. If I don't get killed first, I'm going to die of old age on this ship."

Tom spluttered, "T-that's what you think? You mean all that optimism of yours is just an act?" Could Harry really be as accomplished an actor and liar as Tom himself? Please no.

But Harry said gently, "I am optimistic. About life on Voyager. If people think I'm optimistic about something else. . . why disillusion them?"

The still waters were getting too deep for Tom. He decided to head for the shallows. "So you don't consider yourself engaged to Libby anymore."

"No."

"So. . . call me paranoid, but why wouldn't you look at me or talk to me last night?"

Harry mumbled something.

"What?"

Harry said loudly, "I said I was nervous, okay? Okay? Well, go on, make some kind of wisecrack."

"Oh, shit." Tom felt his eyes tearing again. "Shit, shit, shit." Getting up, he crossed the room, knelt down next to Harry's chair, and pressed his face against the man's thigh.

"Hey. Hey, Tom. Tom." He felt a hand awkwardly stroke his hair.

Tom sat back, caught Harry's hand and pressed a kiss into its palm. "Harry," he said hoarsely. "I'll make it up to you. I swear I'll make it up to you." He rubbed his mouth over Harry's palm and murmured, " . . . so damn angry. . . so damn jealous. . ."

"Yeah, I was."

"What?" Tom's head jerked up.

Harry reddened again and addressed the floor. "On New Year's -- you said all those things to me. You. . . kissed me. And then, the day you got out of Sickbay, you started sleeping with B'Elanna. I was so angry at you. I was so sorry for her. I thought -- what people say about Tom Paris. . . guess it's true."

Tom cringed.

"But last night. . . Guess I've hurt B'Elanna too. It's just. . . I just. . . love you. Now I've hurt B'Elanna too. So who am I to condemn you."

Dazed, Tom kissed Harry's palm again. He'd heard Harry say "I love you." The other words hadn't registered.

Suddenly Harry pulled his hand away and jumped up. Tom was too startled to do more than watch. Harry took several steps back, breathing deeply, clenching and unclenching his fists. "No," he said unsteadily. "We can't do this to B'Elanna."

"Harry --"

"No. B'Elanna deserves better. A better friend than me and a better boyfriend than you. But it's not like she can get off this ship and go looking. So I guess you and I have to be better people."

It was such a Harry kind of thing to say. Tom bit his lip. He rose to his feet and threw his arms open wide in a gesture of helplessness. "You're right! You're right." He walked slowly toward the younger man. "I'll just get on out of here."

"Right."

"I'll just -- say goodnight and get out."

"Right."

"Aw c'mon, Har, we're a little past the manly handshake stage, don't you think?"

"Goodnight, Tom."

"Aw c'mon. A peck on the cheek doesn't count for anything. Trust me. One chaste kiss goodnight. I swear you'll think it's your mother."

And poor, gullible Harry said, "Oh, all right."

\---

Tom woke before the computer could wake him, or Harry, rather. It was Harry's cabin, after all.

Tom wondered when he'd last spent an entire night with someone. A forgotten factoid of his promiscuous life. He wondered how many diseases and children he would have acquired by now in an earlier century.

He propped himself up on one elbow and drank in the sight of his sleeping lover. Harry was a study in black and brown and gold. So beautiful. He wished he'd awakened to this sight months ago. Well, his sexual priority always had been women. Oh, he'd never turned down a proposition from any source, but he'd never pursued a man. He hadn't even recognized that he was in fact pursuing Ensign Kim. From his current perspective he could see he had courted Harry with all the finesse of a grade-schooler -- teasing him, shoving him, bullying him. Tom Paris, the Don Juan of the Delta Quad. Uh huh.

Tom looked down the length of both their bodies, at his own blond pelt and Harry's tawny smooth torso. He and Harry were so dissimilar in appearance. Tom could now bear to acknowledge that the physical contrast excited him -- just as it had excited those fair-haired light- eyed soldiers who had set upon Harry several weeks earlier. Plainly the odious comparison had never occurred to Harry, who had explored Tom's Celtic self with puppyish curiosity. The kid had developed an instant chest hair fixation.

After he had stopped chuckling at the memory, Tom resumed his study of Harry's sleeping face and thought with sudden earnestness -- It's a few weeks late but here's my New Year's resolution: I am not going to mess this up.

An instant later Tom questioned if he could really keep such a promise to himself. He knew what he was made of and it was all cheap and synthetic. But if he sabotaged himself this time he'd damage Harry in the process. A cynical, jaded Harry was not what he wanted on his conscience.

Well, if his idiot parents couldn't ruin his disposition, maybe his idiot lover couldn't either. There was a grimly reassuring thought. Piecing together dribs and drabs of conversation, innocent remarks made here and there, Tom had figured out that Harry was the only son of wealthy, sexist, middle-aged and supposedly infertile parents who had raised him like a prince. In the social stratum inhabited by the Paris family, Tom had met plenty of Harry Kims -- pampered, flattered, indulged monsters. But this Harry Kim had risen above the most subtle form of child abuse of all. So maybe his temperament could withstand the buffeting of a relationship with Tom Paris. Damn. The "R" word.

As if feeling Tom's gaze, Harry's eyes slowly opened. He looked confusedly into the face above him. Then, predictably, he started blushing.

Tom grinned. "Morning, sunshine."

"Oh, man."

"It's another fine day in the Delta Quad."

"Oh, mannnnnn. . ."

Tom stooped down and soundly kissed the bruised lips. He'd make sure Harry didn't have time to get them healed prior to his shift. As good as a "Taken" sign.

Harry's initial embarrassed resistance melted under the skillful manipulation of the other man's mouth. When Tom finally lifted his head Harry was wearing the same sweet, silly smile he'd fallen asleep with.

"That's more like it," Tom said gently. "How ya feeling?"

"Okay."

"Okay? Just okay? You're hurting my feelings."

"What do you want to hear, you egomaniac?"

"That it was the most incredible sex of your life. That Tom Paris should be available by prescription only. That Tom Paris should be kept under the counter in a plain brown wrapper. That --"

Harry began laughing. Tom assumed a wounded air. Finally Harry burrowed his head into Tom's chest, rubbed his face against its thick hair, and said, almost inaudibly, "It was everything."

Tom got a funny melty feeling. How could Harry make something as mechanical as sex seem significant?

Harry drew away, rolled flat onto his back, and stared up at nothing. Uneasily Tom noted the somber expression that was beginning to cloud his face. "Oh, hey. Hey there. What's going on?"

Harry said quietly, "I was thinking about B'Elanna. I feel like a rat."

Tom squirmed. "Hey. That's my job, not yours."

"I haven't been a very good friend to her."

"Harry, Harry, Harry." Tom sat up and looked at the other man in loving exasperation. "You're reading way too much into this situation. B'Elanna and I are not the Romeo and Juliet of the Delta Quad. We're just scratching each other's itch. You know?"

Harry rolled onto his side and looked puzzledly at Tom. "No."

"Hey, we like each other, we're friends, but that's all."

"But you're sleeping together."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean anything."

As soon as the words left his mouth Tom wanted to bite his tongue off. Harry's face seemed to freeze. Panicking, he grabbed Harry's arm. "That didn't come out right. Please, Har. It's not what you're thinking."

Harry didn't fight Tom's grip. He said slowly, "Well, it's not like nobody warned me. Got no one to blame but myself. "

"Harry!" Terrified, Tom literally threw himself at the other man, straddling Harry's hips and pinioning his arms, thinking, I can't let him get away, I can't let him get away. Harry didn't resist. Oh, that awful look on his face, oh gods, he'd put that look on Harry's face. Nothing but nothing but the immediate gut-wrenching truth might banish it. He wasn't going to have the luxury of interminably tap-dancing around this issue.

"Harry, I've screwed a lot of people, it's goddamn embarrassing to think how many. But you better know something. Last night was the first time I ever made love to someone. What I do with B'Elanna is fun. What I do with you is, is, I swear I could make a religion out of it. I love you. Please believe me. Please don't call this off."

He could have wept with relief at the slowly altering expression on Harry's face. He knew he owed this reprieve to Harry's naivete. Anyone else would laugh and say, "Great speech, Paris." Only an innocent like Harry would accept his heartfelt words at face value. And as Tom thankfully wrapped his lover up in his arms he thought he would lay down his life to keep this boy from ever sharing the general consensus on Thomas Eugene Paris. He was going to live up to Harry's good opinion or fucking die in the attempt, and step one was seeking out a certain Klingon for a private, face-to-face talk that probably would end in death.

A nasty, messy, slow, painful death.

\---

Tom stood outside B'Elanna's cabin and nervously reviewed the data.

He'd never said anything gooey to her. She'd never said anything gooey to him.

He'd never promised her anything. She'd never promised him anything. He'd never used the "L" word. Or the "C" word. Or the "M" word. And neither had she.

Well, there you go, Tommy-me-boy. Home free.

So how come he still felt like bidding his balls a fond farewell.

He banged the door signal.

"Come in," B'Elanna called out.

Tom resolutely marched in.

B'Elanna was sprawled on her bed reading. At the sight of him she put down the padd and sat up cross-legged.

"Right on time. And oh by the way. Since when do we make appointments to see each other?"

"Well. It's important."

Curiosity crossed her face. She gestured to the foot of her bed. "So siddown."

Tom dropped into the chair by her desk instead. And thought: Whatever else you do, Tommy, for godssake don't let her get between you and the door.

"So?"

"B'Elanna. We've had a good time. Right? These past few weeks?"

"Fishing for compliments?"

"No. I just want to be sure you know that. . . that I've enjoyed every night we've spent together."

B'Elanna looked at him speculatively. The curiosity on her face began to smooth out into no expression at all. "But?"

Damn. He'd planned to flatter her for at least a full minute. Well. . . "There's another person. . . there's someone. . . well, there's someone I want to get serious about. I'm sorry." Tom made himself continue to look her in the face. Harry would. "And I can't do that and be sleeping with you at the same time. That would be shitty to you and shitty to this other person. So, what I want to know is, B'Elanna, can we go back to being friends?"

B'Elanna sat completely still for a moment.

Then she burst out laughing.

Tom looked on in dismay.

"Too . . . much," B'Elanna crowed. "You're killing me."

Tom had come prepared for anger, tears, threats, violence. What he hadn't come prepared for was ridicule. He stared helplessly until she had wheezed her last laugh.

"B'Elanna," he said timidly. "I meant it. I wasn't joking."

"What's really going on here? What do you really want from me? And don't give me that 'Tom Paris, Reformed Rake' speech. Or I swear I'll get a hernia."

"I want us to go back to being friends."

"Geez, Tom. I know you're commitment-phobic. But you can't even commit to casual sex?"

"B'Elanna, I really meant what I was saying. I want to go on sleeping with you but I can't anymore. Because there's someone I want to get serious about, maybe even marry."

At the word "marry" B'Elanna went off into another gale of laughter. Tom was beginning to feel considerably annoyed. And worried. If B'Elanna reacted this way, how could he expect everyone else on this tub to react? Would Harry decide that 148 people couldn't all be wrong?

At length B'Elanna wiped her eyes and took several steadying breaths. "Okay, Tom. Okay. You want to cool it, we'll cool it. You'll be looking up my skirt in a week anyway."

"No, I won't. I'm going to make it work with Harry."

B'Elanna sobered in a heartbeat. "Joke's over, Paris."

"I'm not joking."

"None of your sick shit. I want the truth."

"That is the truth. I want us to go back to being friends. Because I want to get serious about Harry."

"Gods. You're not joking."

"I'm not joking."

"Harry. Of all the targets in the Delta Quadrant, you've locked onto Harry."

Tom laughed nervously. "Well, that's a funny way to put it, but. . ."

"I'd say that's an accurate way to put it."

Silence fell upon the cabin. B'Elanna's somber silence. Tom's jittery silence.

"Tom. If you want to experiment with another man. . . why does he have to be Harry?"

"This isn't any experiment. I'm serious about this, B'Elanna."

"Serious," B'Elanna repeated softly. "Serious."

Silence fell upon the cabin again.

B'Elanna broke it again.

"Tom," she said quietly. "You shouldn't do this to me. You shouldn't do this to yourself. But the hell with us. Don't do this to Harry."

"Why --"

"You'll hurt him, Tom. You won't be able to help yourself. You're a naturally destructive person."

"That's not true!"

"It is, Tom. Oh, I'm not looking down at you. I'm the same kind of person. See, I don't have any illusions about myself. But you do. For instance. You think you're a nice guy."

Tom couldn't move. He could hardly breathe. He could only stare into that reasonable face and plead for mercy with his eyes.

"Tom," B'Elanna said, pityingly. "It's not going to work out between you and Harry. There can't be any happiness for such different people. You admire Harry, you respect him, you want to be like him, but you're not. You're a bastard, Tom."

"I'm not like that anymore. I've changed."

"Your circumstances have changed. You haven't. Tom. You said it yourself. People like us belong together. You and Harry don't."

"That's not true," Tom repeated, low-voiced.

"It is true. I'm so certain it's true that I'm going to let you go. Because I know you'll be back."

"No. I won't."

"And the only one who's going to suffer is Harry. Leave him alone, Tom. No? Well." She gestured to the door of her cabin. "Be it upon your head."

Tom opened his mouth and closed it again.

He got up and walked out.

\---

End


End file.
